


more than one way to handle a pipe

by advantagetexas



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Light D/s undertones, M/M, he also has a tucker kink the size of the fucking sun, honestly same, wash has a handyman kink the size of the fucking sun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 06:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advantagetexas/pseuds/advantagetexas
Summary: Wash never really stopped to think about what asking Tucker to fix his sink would entail, but now that he's here, staring at his shirtless friend under the cabinet, he begins to rethink his decisions.





	

          “Dude, I don’t know how you managed to fuck up your sink this bad. Like, this shit is wrecked,” Tucker’s voice drifted out from the mess of pipes under Wash’s kitchen sink. Wash himself was sitting on the island across from the sink, trying very pointedly not to stare at the very attractive, very sweaty, very muscular man laying shirtless under his cabinets. He was failing very, very badly at this task.

          “I dunno, I just tried to put some stuff down the garbage disposal and it clogged up,” he replied with a shrug. Tucker actually moved a pipe out of the way to look at him judgingly before rolling his eyes and going back to work. “What?”

          “You don’t have a garbage disposal, you fucking idiot,” comes the strained reply, as Tucker struggles to get a wrench around a particularly out of place pipe. Wash can barely tear his eyes away again, and instead chooses to focus on the fading light outside his kitchen window. Yep, good, safe thing to look at. That is, it was, until Tucker practically _growls_ at the fucking pipes, and tries to _fucking rip the pipe out_ with his bare hands, and fucking _rolls his hips_ against the goddamn air, and…well, let’s just say that the entire room is now a threat to Wash’s dignity.

          Because like, there’s no way out of this that works out well for him. He can’t just leave the room because if he moves, then…alright, let’s be fucking frank about it. Wash is panicking because he just popped a boner watching his shirtless friend fix his fucking kitchen sink. This is the worst, the absolute worst thing that could have possibly happened. Today is cancelled, Wash thinks, completely cancelled, never happened, I did not need to deal with this today or ever. Fuck this, fuck the fucking sink, and especially fuck the realtor that had told him the fucking thing had a garbage disposal when it really didn’t. Fuck you Sandra. Fuck.

          “Wash, you alright? You’ve been quiet for a bit, you fall asleep or something?” Tucker says, snapping Wash out of his stupor.

          “No, yeah, totally fine, completely fine,” Wash manages to stutter unconvincingly, crossing his legs and putting his arm over it.

          “Okay, sure,” Tucker replies, completely unimpressed. He moves out from under the sink, standing up and stretching his shoulders. His wide, muscular shoulders. Jesus _fuck,_ Wash, get a fucking handle on yourself. Tucker grabs a kitchen towel from the rack next to the stove and wipes the sweat from his face with it, which distracts Wash just enough to let him talk like a normal person.

          “Hey, can you not use my kitchen stuff as a goddamn sweat rag? I gotta clean that now.”

          Tucker just rolls his eyes and tosses it down on the counter. “Dude, I just fixed your sink, I think I’m entitled to using a single kitchen towel improperly.” He seems to take a second look, and then continues “Why the fuck are you sitting like a chick at a cotillion?”

          “No reason, just felt like it,” Wash covers masterfully. And by masterfully, he means not at all. Tucker narrows his eyes and tilts his head, then gets the most harlequin smile on his face and Wash knows it’s over. Tucker walks over and practically slams his hands on the counter on either side of Wash’s hips, leaning over him and being as imposing as possible.

          “What’s the deal, Wash?” he asks, obviously aware of the situation. Wash can feel his face heating up already, and hopes that the blush doesn’t betray him further.

          “Fuck you, get out of my face,” he argues, to no avail. Tucker just laughs and brings a hand up to Wash’s chin, tilting his head up and making him shudder.

          “C’mon, admit it, the whole ‘handyman’ thing does it for you,” Tucker coaxes, and Wash just rolls his eyes and refuses to look anywhere except at the ceiling. Suddenly the hand is gone from his chin, and Tucker is grabbing his shirt off the opposite counter.

          “Wait, where’re you going?” Wash asks, confused.

          “I’m going home?” Tucker says, stating it in an equally confused and questioning tone.

          “You can’t just leave now,” Wash argues, groaning with annoyance as Tucker makes a motion for him to continue the thought. “You can’t leave now because if you leave now I’m just gonna have to jack off thinking about letting you give me a handjob instead of it actually happening.”

          “First off,” Tucker says, walking back over and pressing up to the counter between Wash’s now unfolded legs as he fumbles for his zipper, “You aren’t ‘letting’ me do anything. This is a mutual thing.”

          “Fine, sure,” Wash practically moans as Tucker tugs his jeans down to his knees and moves the fabric of his boxers away from his dick. “It’s a mutual thing.”

          “Second off,” Tucker says, wrapping a hand around Wash’s dick and starting to pump gently up and down, taking a personal sense of satisfaction as the other man groans and leans forward into his chest. He braces his free hand on the counter again and continues, “If you don’t stop being such a little shit I’m gonna leave and you’ll have to take care of yourself.”

          “You’re a motherfucker,” Wash mumbles, and Tucker slows his hand to an agonizingly slow pace.

          “What was that?” he asks sarcastically, and Wash just whines in response. “Thought so,” he says, and speeds up his pace again. At this point, Wash is fully leaned against his chest, his head over one of Tucker’s shoulders, his hands grasping at his belt loops. He lets out a low whine as Tucker goes faster again. “There you go, you’re so good for me, baby.”

          At that, Wash can’t hold on any longer, his body shakes as his orgasm racks it thoroughly. He’s left panting over Tucker’s shoulder, his dick going soft in the other’s hand.

          “Jeez, minuteman much?” Tucker jokes, pushing Wash back and reaching for the towel he threw to the side earlier and handing it over.

          “Shut up, it’s been a while,” Wash says as he cleans up. “And now I have to remember to bleach my damn counter-top before I cook dinner tomorrow, great."

          “I can’t believe you’re complaining right now. But uh, hey, like, if you ever wanna go again I’d probably be game,” Tucker says, leaning against the opposite counter.

          “What?”

          “Just, y’know, you said it’d been a while. It doesn’t have to stay like that is all I’m saying,” Tucker clarifies with a casual shrug as Wash slides off the counter and rebuttons his jeans. “Hey, game’s on tonight, maybe you wanna come over to my place to watch it?”

          “I didn’t know it was football season,” Wash says, appreciating the quick return to normal form.

          “Nah, it’s hockey season. Red Wings versus Stars tonight,” Tucker says with a smile, “Gonna beat them into the ground.”

          “Aren’t the Wings last in the division right now?” Wash asks, just to be annoying.

          “Hey, fuck you, it’s a rebuild year.”

          “It’s always a rebuild year.”

          “Says the dirty Rangers fan,” Tucker scoffs.

          “Hey, fuck you, the Rangers are great,” Wash argues, as Tucker laughs. “Zucc could kick your captain’s ass any day of the week.”

          “Sure, sure,” Tucker capitulates with a sarcastic hand wave. “So, you coming over or not?”

          Wash thinks about it for only a split second replying, “Yeah, sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> so my irl friends could conceivably find this account pretty easily, but hey, this is the hill im willing to die on, so fuck it.


End file.
